


Treacle

by galaxyfrog



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Heatwave, Internalized Homophobia, Oneshot, i dont know what to say, im just hopelessly thirsty for sadie and cowgirls in general, its lonely lesbian hours folks, this is so self indulgent, very little actual plot happens here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 16:15:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20438870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxyfrog/pseuds/galaxyfrog
Summary: Angsty lesbian trash





	Treacle

I was becoming familiar with the feeling of my breath catching in my throat, growing thick like treacle. It was normally followed quickly by looking down, picking harshly at my nails, chewing the insides of my cheeks. What else was I supposed to do with this feeling? Where on Earth was I supposed to go with it? 

I certainly couldn't go anywhere near her. Her, in stiff denim, on her hips and legs, how a woman shouldn't look - where a woman shouldn't look. Her, in a worn white cotton shirt; it must feel so thin; one must be able to feel her warmth so vividly. Her, wearing her hat low on her head, boots kicking up dust as she moved, slow and soothing as a pendulum. Her, with her voice like coarse sand digging into my skin, smoothing me down. Her, with eyes so pale and so far away that they cooled me like a distant glacier. 

No. Too much. Think of something else. Feel something else. Pick my nails til they bleed, focus on the sun - move out of the shade to feel it fully. Feel it prickling at my skin. I'm going to burn. It’s the middle of the day and the orange dust is like fine mist around me.

She's here. Good lord, she's right here, standing over me. Hauling me to my feet by the arm, pulling me towards the house, saying something about the heat and the sun and how silly I am. Her long, warm, coarse fingers are around my arm. This weather has dried out her yellow hair, and it looks brittle as straw. She smells like old sweat, tangy and musty. I can see the lines around her mouth. She's ludicrously beautiful.

She deposits me in a chair in the blessedly cool kitchen and pours me a cup of water, muttering about my foolishness and this heatwave and its refusal to break. She picks up a rag and wipes it across her forehead, over her neck, and drops it on the counter. Her eyes catch mine for a moment. She tips her hat so slightly that she barely moves at all, then she opens the door and leaves me there.

I look at the rag on the counter. I take a deep breath. I taste treacle, and raise my cup to my lips, swallowing it down.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you ever see a woman so beautiful that you started crying


End file.
